


A Tie for a Barrette

by suchadearie



Series: Trading for Touch [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchadearie/pseuds/suchadearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part II of the Trading for Touch series and Follow-Up to "A Belt for a Necklace"; Belle visits cursed!Mr. Gold a second time in his shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tie for a Barrette

Miss French didn’t come again into the shop. At least not during the next two weeks. Not that he waited for her, but a distant corner of his mind always flinched when the bell over his door rang and someone came into the shop. And a part of him always was disappointed when it wasn’t Miss French. He played their encounter over and over again in his mind, and often enough he found himself hard with the memory of her soft skin, of her soft lips, closing wet around him… He shook it off. Until the day came, two weeks later, when the bell rang and it was her who walked into the shop.

“Miss French”, he greeted her, “Nice to see you.”

“You polished your manners, didn’t you?” she asked with a grin, and he bristled.

“You obviously didn’t. How can I help you?”

She looked around, and took off her coat, deliberately slow. He had to swallow, and lick his dry lips, because her fluid movement brought back the memories again. And although he hadn’t seen her naked the last time, he now wished to have her bare before him. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, and closed his fingers around the thin strand of her necklace that he always had on him. Today she looked even prettier than last time, wearing a short skirt and a blouse too thin for the cold, and her hair kept together by a beaded hair clasp, leaving her neck bare. He could barely look away from her creamy skin.

“I’m looking for another present.”

“And who is it this time that you need something for?”

“My boyfriend.”

Her answer gave him a sting beneath his ribs, and he had to clench his jaws to keep a straight face. But of course a pretty girl like her would have a boyfriend.

“Do you have anything special in mind?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Can’t say I do. Do you have anything else beside this junk? Maybe in the back of your shop?” She raised a brow, and Gold tightened his grip on the handle of his cane. She couldn’t possibly tell him she had a boyfriend and in the next sentence allure to doing something more sinister with him.

“There is no junk in my shop, and I fear I can’t help you. All I have to sell is on display here in the salesroom.”

She came closer, and leaned onto the counter opposite him, tilting her head and smiling.

“I like your tie, Mr. Gold”, she purred, and he stepped back, although there still was the counter between them.

“My clothes still aren’t for sale, dearie.”

“Then how about another trade?”

“I won’t give you my tie so you can present your boyfriend with it, Miss French.” His voice was sharper than he intended it to be, and she shrugged again.

“Pity. Is there nothing you could want of me?”

“No”, he snarled, and flinched when she hopped onto the counter and swung her legs over, so that she was facing him. He very much liked to throw her out then, and even more when she let her feet dangle and brush against his thighs.

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Gold?” she asked, with a tone of amusement just brimming beneath the surface of her voice.

“Please get off my counter. It’s not made for sitting.”

She cocked her head to the other side and crinkled her nose. “What is it made for?”

“Making deals, I’d think.”

She smacked his counter once with her flat hand, then she hopped down – on his side – and marched without a second glance in his direction through the curtain into the backroom. He followed her, almost panicking by now.

“Miss French, please, you can’t…” He almost bumped into her, again, and he wondered for a brief moment if she did that on purpose. But this time, he didn’t touch her, instead steadying himself with his cane and a firm grip on a shelf. She turned around.

“I can’t what, Mr. Gold?” She emphasized his name and looked at him as if she expected something from him, something he couldn’t possibly offer, because he had no idea what it was that she wanted.

“This room here is private.” It sounded lame, and his attempt at giving his voice a dangerous edge by speaking low and growling didn’t have any effect on her.

“And that is good, isn’t it? So, how about another trade? Is there something you could want in exchange for your tie?”

He stared at her, at a loss for words, and wondered if he had to give in to get rid of her. It was too dangerous for him to be this close to her, to be alone with her in this confined space, because the memory of her skin beneath his fingertips had etched itself into his skin, and he itched to touch her again, to feel her warmth, and her softness, and, God help him, her wetness. He didn’t know exactly why it was dangerous for him, but he had the vague feeling that there was a world behind those deep blue eyes that he should better avoid, better not let too close, or something terrible might happen. He shoved that ridiculous idea back, far to the back of his mind, because what terrible thing could possibly happen if he allowed that girl a little closer?

“How old are you, Miss French?” he asked.

“Do I get the tie if I answer that?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then I don’t tell you my age. This is not something for nothing – “ She clamped her mouth shut as if she had wanted to say something more, as if there had been something on the tip of her tongue that she managed to swallow, and Gold wondered what it could have been. He felt odd, as if he should know what it was that was missing in that sentence. After another moment of waiting and staring at her, he decided to give in. She was persistent, and she would probably not stop pestering him until she had what she wanted. And maybe she would touch him again, and take off his tie if he gave in.

“Alright. You can have my tie – for a price.”

She smiled, and stood much straighter then, but when he stepped closer, so close their clothes were almost touching, the smile fell from her face and was replaced by insecurity. She was not really as brave as she wanted him to believe she was, and he registered the slight trembling of her bottom lip with a smirk. He bent down, close enough for his breath to move the thin strands of hair that had fallen out of her hairdo.

“I take that barrette of yours, dear,” he said, with his voice low and barely more than a whisper. She bit her lip before she turned her back to him, looking briefly over her shoulder back at him, and agreeing with a tiny nod. He inhaled deeply and noticed that his fingers were trembling when he reached for the clasp that held her hair up. Her curls felt like silk on his skin, and when he opened the clasp and let her hair fall down, running his fingers through it in a fit of mad possessiveness, her scent hit him and flooded him with a sensation close to orgasm. He had no idea how his hands landed on her shoulders, but there they were, and she kept still, motionless before him, and Gold wondered if she felt the same urge to lean into him that he felt. But then she stepped forward, out of his grip, and turned to face him again.

“Now give me your tie,” she said, and he felt a rush of disappointment that she wouldn’t take it off herself, that she wouldn’t step closer again and place her hands on his collar, loosen the knot of his tie and pull it off. He let her barrette slip into the pocket of his vest and stripped himself of his tie, deliberately slow, handing it to her like a dead animal. She took it gingerly, making sure not to touch him.

“Always a pleasure to deal with you,” he said, and she stuffed the tie into the pocket of her coat that she still carried over her arm. But instead of leaving the backroom then, she cocked her head and puckered her lips.

“You still owe me something”, she said, and Gold had no idea what she was talking about.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, last time when we made a deal, I didn’t get exactly what I wanted…”

“But you said…” His words failed him. At least she was blushing, too, and unable to meet his eyes.

“I know. I said I got what I wanted. Well, the truth is, I would like to have had just a little bit…more.”

“More what?” he asked, feeling utterly stupid, and the look she gave him convinced him that he was, that he had to be stupid, because she wanted him to grasp the meaning of her words and he just didn’t get there.

“I’d liked to have had an orgasm, Mr. Gold. I didn’t come.”

“Oh.” His mind was blank for anything else, and even that single syllable almost was too much to get out. “I’m sorry”, he choked out after a mortifying moment of silence, and his cheeks burned.

“Well, technically it’s ok. I just wondered if you maybe wanted to…try again?”

“You mean…” _Brain, where art thou_ , he screamed internally, hoping she would fill the emptiness he felt with words, would help him out of that void she had put him in. She didn’t give him words, but she placed her coat on his working table and stepped to him again, and placed her palms on his chest, shoving them beneath his waistcoat, and he felt his skin getting warm where her hands rested on him.

“Bent down, Gold, and kiss me again, alright?” She sounded so timid, so shy, so completely opposite to the way she was acting, and it left him confused and paralyzed, but when her fingers curled on his chest and she tugged at his shirt, he complied, bent down and placed his lips on hers, very gentle and tentative. He didn’t close his eyes, and neither did she. She looked at him as if she expected something to happen from that simple contact of skin, and neither of them breathed. Her lips were warm and soft beneath his, and when he increased the pressure a little, she sighed against his lips and opened her hot and wet mouth for him. His eyelids fluttered shut then, and he dared to explore her mouth with his tongue, dared to taste her, sweet and almost prickling, like champagne, and her hands wandered from his chest to his face and held him, scraping her nails lightly over his cheek and through his hair. When he drew back, she licked over her lips, as if she still tasted him there, and he realized that her body was pressed against his, and his arms were wrapped around her, his cane leaning forgotten against the shelf. He had no idea how that had happened.

“Remember how I went down on you last time?” she asked, with a husky voice, and he had to gulp down the saliva threatening to drown him with the memory of her hot mouth taking him in.

“Yes”, he rasped, and she smiled.

“Do that for me, please.”

Her words trickled down his spine like a stream of hot lava, and he became aware of his almost painfully hard erection. Without a second thought, he guided her a few steps backwards, until her back met his working table, so she could hold herself up there, and he grabbed the edge of the table to support himself when he got down to his knees in front of her. It was painful, and his movements were without grace, painstakingly, but he didn’t care. He took in a sharp breath when he shoved up her skirt and found her wearing stockings, held up by a garter belt, and nothing else. There, between the black garters, lay her nest of curls and pink folds, bare for him, and he pressed his face to her and inhaled her scent. She sighed, a breathless sound of pleasure, when he clasped her right knee and placed her leg on his shoulder, gently puffing his breath over her sex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, and he hesitated, took his time, afraid of hurting her when he pressed his lips to her folds and parted her with his tongue. She encouraged him to go on, raking through his hair and scratching his scalp, and he found the little pearl above her entrance and licked over it.

“Gentle…make your tongue soft…”

He followed her directions, and her sweet moans rewarded him with a shiver running from his head to his toes, leaving him almost unable to breathe. He played with her pearl, oh so soft, until she urged him on by pulling his face closer, pressing his head down on her, and he gulped down her wetness as if it were honey wine. She tasted like spiced honey, like salted halva, and he couldn’t stop drinking her in, licking her smooth skin, not even when she came undone with a hoarse cry and folded herself around his head, clawing his shoulders for support and panting as if she had been running. She had to pull his head away from her, and even then, he pressed his face to her thigh, kissing and biting her along the edge of her stockings. He ached to be inside her, to feel her hot and silken around him, and he touched his fingertips to her folds and gently pushed inside to have at least a taste of her, something similar to the feeling of her insides clenching around him.

“Please”, he whispered, “let me have you.”

She groaned, and flinched when he brushed his thumb over her swollen clit.

“Please”, he repeated, and pressed his face to her curls again. She grasped his arms to help him up, and he was thankful for her support, because he had no idea if he would have gotten to his feet without it. It was not only the stiffness of his leg, it was as well the trembling that shook him, the shivers of need and want running over him and turning his legs into a liquid state. For a moment, he had to grab the table to hold himself upright, and he had her pinned between himself and the piece of furniture. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, and he felt her shiver against him. While she pressed her face to his shoulder, he extracted his pocket square and wiped her juices from his face, folding the cloth afterwards and placing it carefully back in his pocket to keep it as a memento for lonely nights to come.

“Please, dear”, he whispered then, burying his face in her hair. She pushed him gently back, smiling up at him. But it was a smile that held a question, a probing look, as if she searched for something in him, as if she expected something to be there. Still he held only emptiness for her, and her smile became sad.

“Not today”, she whispered, and he bit the insides of his cheeks to hold back the groan. Gently, as if she was afraid he would break under her touch, she cupped his cheek. “We’re almost even now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” She raised herself up to tiptoes and kissed him, and it felt like a Goodbye to him. “Have a nice day, Mr. Gold.” She made a tiny pause before she spoke his name, almost too short to notice, but he couldn’t help but feel the disappointment that rung in her voice.

“Miss French”, he said, looking after her as she slipped through the curtain.

Her name was Lily, but he had a sense for names, and hers didn’t ring true. It was ridiculous, since she was born with this name and had spent her whole life in Storybrooke, making a living as a shop assistant in her father’s flower shop, but still he couldn’t bring himself to call her Lily. Not even to himself. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his face. Her scent still clung to his fingers, and he inhaled deeply, sucking in his breath and her scent. He resolved to waiting for the uncomfortable tightness of his pants to dissolve on its own. He could have taken care of the problem, but it felt wrong to do it with her in mind and her wetness still sticking to his skin. Instead, he took her beaded hair clasp and put it into a wooden casket. And after turning the key in its lock, he threaded it onto a thin chain and put it around his neck, to wear the key above his heart at all times.      


End file.
